Evil Never Dies (The Lizzy Gardner Series Book 6) (5 page)

“Stupid move,” Hayley said. “I had it under control. And the reason I didn’t text you back was because I had crawled under the bed and I couldn’t reach my phone. I could hear Holmes in the kitchen, rifling through the refrigerator. Once he settled down, I was going to sneak out the back door.”

“You were on the wrong side of the house. The back door, if there was one, was on the other side.”

“Then I would have crawled through the fucking window.”

“You said you would be fifteen minutes.”

“No, I told you to give me thirty.”

Kitally shook her head as she kept her eyes on the road in front of her. “That’s not what you said.”

Hayley opened the glove box and pulled out the throwaway phone. Then she called 911 and reported a rape taking place inside the house on 1273 Florence Drive in Sacramento. She told them to hurry, and then she hung up the phone before they could ask for a name.

CHAPTER EIGHT

Lizzy had worked late last night and didn’t get home until well past midnight, when the only noise outside was the chirping of crickets. By the time she awoke, the sun was up and the day had started without her.

She staggered into the bathroom. A dizzy head prompted her to hang on to the counter for support. She felt hungover; with dark circles under her eyes, she looked hungover, too, and yet she hadn’t had a drink since Hayley found her in the office drowning her sorrows in a bottle of scotch three months ago.

It took her fifteen minutes to get through her morning routine. Downstairs, she found Kitally at the kitchen table, eating scrambled eggs.

“Morning,” Lizzy mumbled. “How did everything go with the prison guard? Any problems getting in and out?”

A girl stepped out of the main part of the kitchen and into view. Her black hair was pulled back into a bun. She was olive-skinned, ridiculously young, and pregnant.

Lizzy cocked her head and said, “Who are you?”

“I’m Salma. Who are you?”

Lizzy looked at Kitally. “What’s going on?”

“Hayley and I were driving around looking for the Ghost when we happened upon Salma sleeping in the park.”

“So you brought her here?”

“There’s plenty of room,” Hayley said from the main living area.

Lizzy lifted both palms in question. “Are we opening up some sort of home for misfits?”

Kitally’s eyes widened in surprise. “I don’t know. Is that what we are—misfits?”

“I can cook,” Salma said, “and I—”

Ignoring the girl, Lizzy turned around and walked into the other room, where Hayley was sitting on the couch, tapping away on the keyboard, absorbed in whatever she was working on. “We can’t talk openly if she’s going to be staying here,” Lizzy said.

Hayley looked up.

“What happened to your face?” Lizzy asked. “Who did that to you?”

“It’s not as bad as it looks.”

“Did Holmes see you?”

“Yep. He saw us both.”

Lizzy stood stock-still. Heat rose from her toes to her neck.

“It was my fault,” Kitally said as she entered the room behind Lizzy. “I should have let Hayley handle things, but I got worried and screwed everything up.”

“Yeah, well, it doesn’t really matter why or how,” Lizzy said. “We’re shutting this so-called operation down.”

“Not yet,” Kitally said. “There’s still a good chance they caught Holmes with the porn that we planted inside his house and he’ll be locked up. In fact, he could be behind bars right now as far as we know.”

“Don’t either of you get it?”

Kitally and Hayley waited for Lizzy to tell them.

“You weren’t ready,” Lizzy said to Kitally, angrily stabbing the air for emphasis. “I knew you weren’t ready, but I let you talk me into moving forward. And look what happened. He saw both of your faces. It’s over.”

“You’re overreacting,” Hayley said. “Holmes can’t prove we were ever in his house. He has no idea who we are, and I bet you he doesn’t have a clue as to why we were there to begin with.”

“Tell that to Detective Chase. He’s got his eyes on you,” she said to Hayley. “He’s got a file this thick.” She used her fingers to show her exactly how big the file was. “He’s got pictures and witnesses who say they saw
you
in the area where a dead man was found in his apartment—a man who supposedly put a bag over his head and committed suicide.”

Hayley sighed and went back to whatever she was doing before.

Kitally shot Lizzy a confused look. “What does that have to do with Hayley?”

“That girl,” Lizzy said, ignoring Kitally and pointing in the direction she’d last seen Salma. “She’s gotta go.”

“What happened to helping others whenever possible?” Kitally wanted to know.

“Do you see those words carved on my fucking forehead?”

“Wow,” Kitally said. “I get that you’ve got some major issues to deal with, but you don’t have to be such a bitch.”

Lizzy took a breath, tried to calm herself. “I’m going to my room to grab a few things and then I’ll be out for most of the day.”

“What about Shady Oaks Nursing Home?” Kitally asked.

“What about it?”

“You told me over the phone yesterday that you needed to talk to me about checking the place out.”

“Yeah, well, figure it out. The file is on the desk in the office,” she said as she walked off.

“I’ve never seen her so pissed off,” Kitally said after Lizzy walked away.

Hayley shrugged. “She’ll get over it.”

“Should I leave?” Salma asked.

“
No
,” Kitally and Hayley both said at once.

Tammy Walters and her four-year-old son lived in a one-bedroom apartment off Forty-Second Street. Long, unkempt dry grass and broken-down fencing surrounded the outside of the building, but the inside of the apartment was clean and neat, if sparsely furnished.

Tammy sat on a sofa, and Lizzy sat in an overstuffed chair facing her. “What can you tell me about your sister Miriam?”

“Do you mean what kind of person is she? Her hobbies, her goals?”

“Sure,” Lizzy said. “Anything that might tell me what she’s like.”

Tammy thought about it for a moment. “Miriam is my best friend. Although we have the same birth parents, you wouldn’t know it once you looked at the two of us together. Miriam is tall and slender but with curves—you know what I mean?”

Lizzy nodded.

“But me—well, take a look at me—I’ve got a lot of meat on these bones and being five feet, three inches, nobody ever accused me of being tall.”

She laughed, but Lizzy could see that her heart wasn’t in it. Although she talked as if her sister was still alive, the probability of that being the case was growing slimmer every day.

“Not only is Miriam beautiful,” Tammy said, “she was always the brightest student in school.” She sighed. “I’d be lying if I said I was never jealous of Miriam, because I was. And if her own sister is sometimes jealous, think how many girls in high school were. I used to joke and call my sister ‘poor beautiful Miriam.’ ”

Tammy’s son brought over a toy, and, without missing a beat, she connected a plastic robot arm and leg and then handed it back to him. “There you go,” she said. “Momma loves you.” The kid ran back to his pile of toys in the middle of the apartment.

“Do you know how Miriam met Wayne Bennett?” Lizzy asked.

“Yeah. I do.” She pointed to her chest. “It was
me
.” She fiddled with her tight black curls. “After I heard that a girl I knew was handpicked by Wayne Bennett to be in his program, I called his office. I was outraged that my sister wasn’t chosen, and that’s when I found out that Miriam had never even applied.” She shook her head. “Why didn’t I just leave well enough alone?”

“We would all make different decisions and choices if we could see into the future.”

“Yeah, well, how many people make choices that put a loved one’s life in danger?”

Lizzy lifted a shoulder and left it at that.

“Anyhow, I talked Miriam into applying, and, of course, she got into the program. If she wasn’t so damned beautiful, Wayne Bennett probably never would have paid her any mind. But as it was, he took an immediate interest in my sister and that was that.”

“Did she complain about him?” Lizzy asked.

“No. It was way worse than that. Poor beautiful Miriam fell in love with Wayne Bennett.”

“Really?”

“Yep. It took Miriam about twenty-four hours to fall for the guy. As if she knows what love is, right? She’s eighteen. He’s way too old for her. I just figured it was a harmless infatuation. Think about it,” Tammy said, leaning forward, her voice lowering. “Tall, handsome, distinguished, smart, and compassionate. A well-respected man looked up to in the community, a man who wasn’t satisfied with making millions of dollars but who claimed to have a burning need to help others.” Tammy moaned in disgust. “If my sister had made a list describing her perfect mate, Wayne Bennett would have fallen at the top of the list.”

They both watched Tammy’s son run around the apartment making airplane noises, his wooden airplane rising to the floor and then back to the sky, around and around. The kid stopped in front of Lizzy, his airplane held frozen in holding mode. “Are you gonna find Aunt Miriam?”

“I don’t know,” Lizzy said. “I sure hope so.”

The little boy took off again. When he was out of earshot, Lizzy said, “In your opinion, is it possible Miriam and Mr. Bennett formed an intimate relationship?”

“Not only is it possible—it happened. Our father is an asshole, so Miriam moved in with me. She’s been living here with my boy and me for a while now. After she met Mr. Bennett, I would get daily updates. If he so much as looked at her, I heard about it. The first time he took her to dinner, I thought her head would explode from excitement alone.”

“Did she know he was married?”

“She’s a smart girl, remember? Of course she did.”

“So she must have known it wouldn’t last forever.”

“She was book smart, I guess, not exactly relationship smart. Like a lot of mistresses out there, Miriam thought she was special.”

“So what do you think happened? Do you think he told her it was over and she left town?”

“Nope. Not even close. I’ve heard rumors that Miriam had met someone else, a younger guy, so, in my opinion, I think one of two things happened. Miriam either threatened to tell the world about their relationship if he didn’t leave his wife, or she told him about this other guy and Bennett didn’t like it.”

Tammy sighed and then wiped away a tear. “She can’t be dead. She just can’t be. He must be keeping her against her will somewhere, like maybe in his mountain cabin. I heard he had a vacation home in Lake Tahoe. All rich people have one of those—don’t they?”

“You told me over the phone that you had a picture of them together. Can I see it?”

Tammy laughed. “Bennett would not allow Miriam to take pictures of them together.” The look on Tammy’s face was a sly one. “He wouldn’t allow her to use her phone when they were together, either.”

Lizzy frowned. “We need proof.”

“Calm down, girlfriend. You see, Mr. Bennett had no idea who he was dealing with. Just because Miriam couldn’t pull out a cell phone or take pictures of them together, that didn’t mean her friends and family couldn’t.”

Tammy picked up an envelope and dumped its contents onto the coffee table between them. Pictures of all sizes slid out, some falling to the floor.

Lizzy scooped up the ones from the floor. “Did your sister know about this?”

“You bet. It was her idea.”

Lizzy examined one particular photo: a clear shot of Miriam and Wayne Bennett enjoying a candlelit dinner for two. “Do you know where this was taken?”

“I sure do.”

“How about date and time?”

“Yep. I got it all.”

Lizzy’s adrenaline kicked in. “I’ll need a list of friends and family, anyone who might have seen Miriam with Bennett. I will also need her last place of employment and anything else you can give me.”

“I’ll make you a list right now.”

CHAPTER NINE

Up until three weeks ago, when she discovered she was pregnant, Lorry Jo Raciti considered herself to be lucky in life. Not a perfect life, but a good one.

She and her second husband had been married for ten years. They had three children who meant the world to her. The problems all started when she returned to the workforce. She was an assistant for a slew of engineers at a software company in Folsom. Going to work, interacting with other adults, getting respect—not to mention a paycheck—was a high she hadn’t experienced in a very long time.

But she’d blown it. She’d let one of the engineers get the best of her: tall, handsome, great-smelling cologne—a drink after work and then instead of driving her back to work where her car had been left in the parking lot, he’d gotten halfway to their destination and pulled over to the side of the road.

She had more than a hunch he wanted to kiss her.

She wanted to kiss him, too.

Under the pretense of getting some air, needing a moment to think about whether or not she would allow him one quick kiss, solely to get it out of her system, she got out of the car. He climbed out, too, and the next thing she knew, he took her hard and fast on the hood of his Camaro.

It was exhilarating, intoxicating: the best sex she’d ever had.

And that was it.

Ten minutes of hot and heavy, mind-blowing sex ended up being ten minutes she would never forget for as long as she lived.

Not because the man or the sex was unforgettable, but because she was pregnant.

This morning, like any other morning, she woke up, kissed her husband, got dressed, and then made sure the kids arrived at school on time. Instead of going to work, though, she came here, to the American River. She had grown up in Sacramento, and this trail—with its views of the meandering river, leafy trees, and so much wildlife, a picture that would stay with her for days—was where she always went when she needed to unwind or to think things through.

If she were going to keep this baby, she would need to tell her husband the truth. After the birth of their third child, he’d had a vasectomy. Her only other option, as far as she was concerned, was to have an abortion and never tell a soul.

The sun’s rays hit the water in a way that made the river look as if crushed diamonds had been sprinkled over the top. Nature at its best—alive and welcoming.

Although her earbuds were in place, it was only for show. When she wanted to think, didn’t want to say hello to people she passed, she wore the buds in hopes of being left alone. Since they weren’t connected to anything, she could still hear the water as it lapped gently against the shoreline. She could hear the birds chirping and the rustling of leaves and tiny feet against bark as the squirrels chased one another, circling a tree.

Her thoughts progressed to the matter at hand, and she tried to imagine what her unborn child would look like. Boy or girl? Blonde or brunette? All of her kids were so different, in both looks and personality. Would this child have her blue eyes? She imagined her other children playing with the new baby, arguing over whose turn it was to hold him or her next. She had two girls and a boy. Her son would love to have a brother. Did her husband love her enough to make this work?

She lifted her gaze to the sky and smiled as the tremendous weight of indecision lifted from her shoulders.

Everything changed in that moment.

She knew she had made a mistake. There was no getting around that fact. But she would do everything in her power to make her marriage work. Her mind was made up. Chills swept over her. She would keep this baby.

The distinct sounds of someone approaching startled her. Lost in her thoughts, she’d momentarily become unaware of her surroundings. Before she could turn around, an arm circled her neck and a rag was stuffed into her mouth.

She struggled for breath.

And then she fought for her life and the life of her unborn baby. She couldn’t die! She kicked her attacker in the shin. Not now. Certainly not today.

She clawed at his face, determined to leave a mark.

It was such a beautiful day.

Even now as she was dragged over the slope of a hill, the sharp edges of twigs and rocks digging into her back, she could see the morning rays of the sun peeking through the trees.

Someone would help her.

There were always so many people on this path. But this wasn’t Saturday or Sunday. Today was a workday.

Help me, please.

Her children needed her. She found the physical power to fight on. She kicked him again, kicked him hard, but she could already feel her strength leaving her.

She thought of her husband. Would he ever know how sorry she was?

She prayed he would never learn of her condition. But if he did, she prayed he would find it in his heart to forgive her.

Well hidden beneath the leafy canopy of a giant oak, he had watched and waited. Every so often a biker would whiz by, a group of runners, or the occasional couple taking a morning walk. The pathway veered along the American River, a watercourse that ran from the Sierra Nevada mountain range, converged with the Sacramento River, and eventually emptied into the San Francisco Bay and then the Pacific Ocean.

He loved to watch the kayakers and paddleboarders skim across the river from his balcony at home, but his newest plan had forced him out of his rut to try something new.

He was in no hurry this morning, yet it wasn’t long before he saw a lone walker on the horizon. Yes, she was walking this way. He could see wires dangling on both sides of her face. She had buds in her ears. Not a smart move. No cell phone on hand, at least that he could see. She walked at a good clipped pace, would be upon him any minute now. As long as no other walkers, runners, or bikers showed up, she would be the chosen one—his next victim.

From his spot on the hill, he could see just far enough both ways, far enough to see that the timing couldn’t be better. The moment the woman passed him, he headed out from under the tree and onto the trail, making quick work of catching up to her. His hand came around her face, and she opened her mouth to scream just as he knew she would. He shoved a rag into her mouth to muffle her cries as he dragged her into the cover, past the place where he’d been watching the trail, deep into the thickest part of rocks and trees.

Damn.

She was a fighter.

She kicked and she hit.

Even after he had her on the ground face up, his legs straddling her, the weight of him holding her down, his hands around her throat, she managed to rake sharp fingernails across his face.

“You bitch.”

He clamped his hands around her neck and squeezed until he thought the pads of his thumbs might go through her flesh and come out the other side.

Her eyes widened, wild with fear. He felt her heart rate race, watched her cheeks redden. He grew hard watching her expression shift from anger to terror.

Even as he stared at her, unblinking, he felt her arms go limp at her sides.

Now she had stopped fighting altogether. Her legs had gone slack beneath him.

His gaze became one with hers. He couldn’t look away even if he wanted to. She might not realize it as she took her last breaths, but she was special. He would remember her for the rest of his life. She was magnificent. Her eyes, as blue as the clear waters of Tahoe, had turned a stormy cerulean right before they lost their luster. On canvas, she would come alive.

Overcome with joy, filled with orgasmic satisfaction, he finally released his hold on the woman. He inhaled deeply and closed his eyes as he filled his lungs with the smell of fear, death, and ultimate control.

He pulled out a two-inch blade and cut away her clothes, then sliced through flesh from left to right, then a clean diagonal cut from her collarbone to her hip bone, and then straight across. He finished his signature with one last horizontal cut.

This time he’d made sure to leave a mark big enough so every crime scene technician who came within ten feet of the girl would see it.

Taking a step back, he took a good long look at his bloody artwork. He stared at her, unsure of the mix of emotions he was feeling. He wasn’t ready to leave, but he had no choice. He tilted her head just so, fixed her hair as best he could, and then spared her one last glance before he walked away.

Heading back toward the trail, he stopped to bury an item he’d brought with him—a mirror. He scooped out the rich soil, placed the mirror inside, covered it up, and gently patted the soil until it was hardly noticeable. Back on his feet, he inwardly scolded himself for leaving the object. But he hadn’t been able to help himself. It was a small but essential part of the composition—the mirror was the artist’s reminder to reflect and speculate, to look inside oneself to gain self-knowledge. With a heavy sigh, he peeled the gloves from his hands, rolled them into a ball, and slid them into his pants pocket. Hidden behind brush and trees, he heard talking: two women discussing their marital woes. He took a quiet breath, held perfectly still, and waited until they were far enough up the trail that they wouldn’t notice him.

He crossed the path, admiring the vast array of trees, all different shades of green, some with silver-tipped leaves. Making his way toward the river, his latest victim all but forgotten for now, he found himself wondering why he didn’t do this more often. The great outdoors: blue skies and the fresh smell of fish, plant, and earth all mingled into one.

Crisp air brushed his face and still he considered it to be fairly warm for the month of April. Halfway down the trail, he saw the very tip of his yellow kayak peeking out from under the brush. Upon reaching it, he leaned over and picked up his life vest. He slipped it on—you could never be too safe when it came to large bodies of water—and, when he was certain the river, at least as far as he could see in either direction, was devoid of people, he slid his kayak into the smooth water, carefully took his place inside, and began to paddle for home.